


The Helpless

by apathetic_coffee



Category: Wander Over Yonder (Cartoon), woy - Fandom
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Backstory, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, also wander is not 1000 years old in this story! it was never confirmed so im not writing it in, do you realize how angry i am that we never got to learn wander's backstory. i am seething., its all g rated but...yeah., okay well actually one minor character does die offscreeen so i guess it could be pg rated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:08:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26937907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apathetic_coffee/pseuds/apathetic_coffee
Summary: A short story delving into the past of Wander, revealing that he was once Dr. Screwball Jones' assistant, and what events led to him becoming the friendly helper everyone knew him as.
Relationships: Wander & Sylvia Zbornak
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	1. The Helpless

**Author's Note:**

> Wander is referred to as Tumbleweed as a majority of this story, referencing the episode "The Waste of Time".
> 
> Also this chapter contains one minor character death offscreen. Please be wary.

_The helper seeks to help others because he knows what it is to be helpless._

-

"Tumbleweed! Tumbleweed, are you even listening to me?"

The nomad child was snapped away from his thoughts by the sudden, shrieky sound of his name being called. Tumbleweed's eyes immediately darted to the table before him, then to the figure beside him.

The familiar, floating, banana-shaped alien clad in a rainbow wig and cheap, plastic glasses was always a welcome sight. Especially when he was yelling at him.

Screwball Jones. Or, Doctor Screwball Jones, as he preferred to be called. Tumbleweed's mentor, in a sense.

“Y-yeah. Mm-hm.” mumbled Tumbleweed. “I’m listenin’.”

"Good." The banana spoke, eyeing the nomad as he fiddled with an invention. His mustache worked as his hands. Flexible, controllable limbs. Tumbleweed never questioned how it worked. “Then you’ll know what I’m talking about when I ask you to shake my hand.

A mechanical hand extended from Dr. Jones’ hat, filling the empty space between him and Tumbleweed. The nomad eyed his offer, saying nothing, his gaze periodically shifting from Jones’ hand to his face. Shoot. He wasn’t listening. What was he supposed to do? 

Biting his lip, Tumbleweed placed his palm into the one before him. 

And he was immediately met with a white vision, every muscle in his entire body contracting and convulsing under the hot, searing pressure of whatever had just engulfed him. It lingered for a few, long seconds before disappearing, leaving the nomad child with a ringing noise bouncing along the inside of his skull.

“Of course you weren’t listening to me.” Jones’ scolded, placing his mustached hands onto both sides of his body. “That must have come as a real _shock_ to you, huh? If you had been listening, you would know what this is, my friend.”

Tumbleweed could barely process what he was saying. He was on the floor now, and his head hurt. A lot. He noticed what looked like a joybuzzer strapped to Dr. Jones’ mechanical hand. Was he just electrocuted? 

That wasn’t very nice...

But Tumbleweed couldn’t say that. His role was to be

_The Helpless_

and do what he was told. 

“Get up, Tumbleweed. I’m guessing you aren’t exactly _struck_ with this lesson. This attention problem of yours is getting harder and harder to _conduct_.”

And Tumbleweed did as he was told, pushing himself off of the purple-maroon floor beneath him, and grabbing ahold of his head in a quick attempt to stop his swimming dizziness. “S-sorry. I bet your lesson was...real interestin’...”

“I’m sure you do.” Dr. Jones promptly responded, before grabbing ahold of Tumbleweed’s wrist. “Follow. I hope you remember our plans for today. They might _strike_ your interest, instead.”

Didn’t he already use that pun?

Tumbleweed shook his head as he followed behind. The nomad had been Screwb-- Dr. Jones’ assistant all of his life. He was bound to hear the same joke twice in a row.

“Assistant” didn’t always seem to be the most appropriate word. Tumbleweed's "assistance" seemed to involve a lot of him testing faulty equipment or...whatever new invention Dr. Jones whipped up in his lab. Both of which tended to blow up in his face. Literally.

He got hurt a lot. 

But he much preferred testing inventions over helping people, the latter of which happened a lot more than he'd hoped for.

Tumbleweed didn’t like helping people.

Dr. Jones reminded him before that he could leave whenever he wanted. But he knew that wasn't true. If he left, he'd have nobody. He'd have nothing.

He was eight years old now. He knew what his priorities were.

"Dr. Jones, sir?"

"Mm-hm."

"Our plans for today, they maybe...possibly involve that certain village planet we went to the other day, right? Just checkin’."

"Funny you ask that, my little friend. That certain village planet IS on the schedule.”

Fantastic.

And so Tumbleweed kept to himself with a lowered head, nervously running his fingers along the coarse sleeve of his lab coat. The two walked along the maroon corridor of the ship and averted their gaze from the colorful trinkets and documents plastered on the walls around them. A corridor the nomad had walked through every single day of his entire life. He knew every inch of these walls by heart.

He noticed that his wrist was still tightly interlocked with Dr. Jones’ hand. 

It only took a few minutes for the duo to reach the cockpit, spacious and filled with coiled machines Tumbleweed had never figured out the use for. There was a wide, glass pane just above the control panel, the latter of which was dotted in colorful buttons and switches. Tumbleweed was forbidden to touch the control panel without permission.

“Tumbleweed, pull up the map.” demanded Jones, adding a slightly less harsh “will you?” at the end. Tumbleweed did as he was told, and his wrist was released from his mentor’s grasp. He scrambled over to the buttons on the control panel and pressed the ones he had memorized the exact color and placement of, which projected a holographic, interstellar map overhead. 

Tumbleweed spotted “that certain village planet” too.

That planet, as the name suggested, was small and homey and consisted of only a few dozen people. They were going through some sort of depression-- a social depression, specifically, that he never got to find out the root of. But that didn’t matter. Where there were people sad, Dr. Screwball Jones and Tumbleweed were there to help. Because according to Dr. Jones, “it never hurts to help.”

“Tumbleweed.” the banana demanded in a noticeably harsher tone than usual. He was by the control panel now, next to Tumbleweed, and had his hands wrapped around the joystick used to drive the ship.

Oh no.

“Yeah, Doctor Jones, sir?” Tumbleweed immediately responded, his back going stiff and his heart beginning to pound. Was Jones just talking to him? Had he been zoning out again?

“...Pfft-- hahaha, nothing! Did you see the look on your face just right now? Absolutely hilarious!”

Tumbleweed’s face dropped at that remark. His heart was still going, rapidly beating against the inside of his chest, but...he shot his mentor a weak smile. “Oh..that was...real-- real funny, sir…” He stuttered with a breathy sigh. At least he wasn’t in trouble. But now he was all worked up.

“Nono, seriously now.” added Dr. Jones, who was still laughing just a bit. “...Okay, look pal, I’ll explain to you just one more time what the plan is when we get there.”

“Uh-huh.” Tumbleweed mumbled. He tried to keep his eyes glued onto his mentor. 

“Tumbleweed. Are you listening? Your attention seems to _slip_ when I’m talking about important things.”

Was that a banana pun? Or related to something els-- no. Tumbleweed. Stay focused. “Yeah. Yes. I’m listenin’.” He still had a headache from before...

“As I was telling you earlier, before I was so rudely distracted by you being distracted: this--” He pulled out a colorful raygun looking object filled with a clear liquid, “--is my fantabulous nitrous oxide dispenser. Come here. I’ll show you what it does.”

“I--” the nomad started, barely getting a word out before the other interrupted him.

_“Come here.”_

And so, little Tumbleweed did as he was told, rushing over to Jones’ side with his hands neatly placed behind his back. Before the child could even react, a grossly strong fume was blown into his face by the barrel of the gun, causing him to immediately stumble over and bubble with laughter.

‘I’ve installed a large scale version of this into the ship.” the banana promptly spoke, admiring the weapon in his hands. “It’s quite a _hoot_ , if I do say so myself. This stuff is much stronger than your ordinary laughing gas.”

Tumbleweed tried to process what he was being told, but he couldn’t stop laughing. It wasn’t a fun laughter. It was a forced laughter that hurt his sides and made his head spin. Was Dr. Jones planning on using this to help the folks down at that certain village planet?

“Alright, that’s enough” was all the child heard before something vaguely resembling a white stick was brought to his face, then snapped in half with a satisfying noise, causing his fit of laughter to immediately come to a halt. Smelling salts. Not only did his head hurt, but now his sides did too. 

One positive is that he was much more _awake_ now. Positives were good, at least.

“Dr. Jones, sir...” Tumbleweed interjected at a slightly faster pace than usual, trying to keep his footing as he did so. “I ain’t really sure if this is the _best_ use for somethin’ like this...those villagers down there, they ain’t-- I ain’t sure if makin’ ‘em laugh will fix their problems.”

That caused the banana to pause for a moment, just a moment, and Tumbleweed was already regretting what he had said. 

“What exactly are you trying to say, pal? What do YOU know about helping people?” Dr. Jones crossed his arms and stared into the child across from him. “Who exactly are YOU to question MY intelligence?”

“I-I ain’t questionin’ your intelligence, sir, swear on it!” Tumbleweed returned with hands raised. “I’m questionin’ your...rationale. I mean, you...ah, l-long term, I mean. How is this gonna keep them happy...long term?”

“This isn’t a _laughing_ matter, friend. One splendiferous thing about this nitrous is that it doesn’t stop. Once inhaled, you don’t stop laughing without a stimulant.” Dr. Jones waved the smelling salt near the child’s face, causing him to lean away from it. “If you had been listening to me, you’d know that.”

Tumbleweed shrunk back, saying nothing. Of course. Dr. Jones always had foolproof plans. Dr. Jones was always right.

“Don’t ever question my plans ever again. You aren’t the one running this ship, pal.”

That was the last thing the child was told before he slumped down to the floor, still right beside his mentor. It was stupid of him to even bring up the idea that Dr. Jones could be wrong. Tumbleweed brought his knees to his chest, the long tail of his labcoat wrapping around his shivering body, as his gaze drifted down to his worn blue sneakers.

“Don’t sulk like that, Tumbleweed.” Dr. Jones remarked, with the inflection of a joke, as he tossed the nitrous gun down to the floor and slid it across to the child. “I know you were just taking a _shot_ in the dark. But you being stupid isn’t going to get us anywhere.”

Tumbleweed didn’t respond to that. He didn’t grab the gun, either. He just sat in silence for a long moment.

His head hurt, still.

A lot of these helping missions involved a similar theme. Someone in trouble, Dr. Jones concocting a brilliant plan to overcompensate, followed by him dragging Tumbleweed down to whatever planet and unleashing whatever invention was thrown together at the last minute.

And it always worked, technically. The people were always left happy. Whether it was with chemicals, neurological beams, something called a “tickle machine” (that Tumbleweed never asked about, but once noticed sticking out from his mentor’s pile of blueprints), Dr. Jones at least knew how to make people happy. He constantly said that one day “he would spread joy throughout the entire universe.” 

Tumbleweed didn't doubt that.

Forcing happiness onto people didn’t seem like the best use of energy, but that’s what Tumbleweed was told that helping was. And it was the child’s duty-- it was the child’s purpose to help people. 

That’s what Dr. Jones told him, anyway. 

Tumbleweed’s thoughts were suddenly washed away by the feeling of his muscles rapidly contracting, and looking around, he realized the entire ship was swaying and shaking with the drop in speed. This whole vehicle was run down. It rumbled something fierce every time anyone tried to land it.

“Pick up your dispenser, will you, Tumbleweed?” demanded Dr. Jones, his hands still wrapped around the joystick. Tumbleweed’s eyes drifted to the nitrous gun on the floor. He was still shivering. But the child did as he was told, slipping the handle of the gun comfortably into his palm.

“We need to be careful down here, pal.” the banana spoke as he pulled away from the control panel. “We don’t want to _trigger_ any sorta hostility with these villagers. Getting into some kind of skirmish is on the bottom of my to-do list, capiche?”

Tumbleweed gave a silent nod. His attention shifted to the window, and his eyes once again met with the homey, yet run down cluster of shambled houses that made up the village planet below. The planet was small, which made the village itself seem even smaller. 

Tumbleweed was a lot smaller than Dr. Jones. The child was only about a foot high himself. Nomads didn’t grow very tall, even for his age. He’d probably fit in here. 

He waited for Dr. Jones to make his way out of the cockpit before following suit. He watched the banana press a few colored buttons on the wall keypad before the door automatically slid open, revealing the ship to be landed in midair. Tumbleweed wasn't sure why he always did this. He didn't ask.

In Dr. Jones’ hand was a familiar blue bottle, wrapped in a bright purple label that read “Orbble Juice”. Also something Tumbleweed was forbidden from learning about. 

Dr. Jones unscrewed the cap of the bottle and whipped out a small pink bubble wand, immediately enclosing the two in a large orbble. The mystery of the orbble always boggled the child’s mind. If you could walk along the surface of it without it popping, then how would you be able to--

Oh. Wait. The orbble was already moving forward. Okay, scratch that thought. He needed to focus.

The gun was still placed in the child’s hand. He swallowed thickly as the banana steered the orbble towards the ground, colliding with a hearty thud. When Tumbleweed opened his eyes, the orbble was gone. And the two were right in the center of the village.

“Attention, Village Planet Villagers!” Dr. Jones boomed through a megaphone he got from...somewhere. “Prepare to have your sadness eliminated by the overwhelming, intoxicating, incredulous power of my Nitrous Oxide Dispenser!” 

Animal-like villagers clad in brown, baggy tunics and gowns crowded around the two, some staring at the strange aliens before them, others glancing up at the silly looking ship overhead-- nearly all of them mumbling and muttering amongst each other. Before he could say anything, Tumbleweed felt something snap onto his face, something stiff, wrapping around his head and covering his mouth. A mask. Dr. Jones’ hands pulled away from the child’s face, and Tumbleweed noticed that the banana had one on as well.

“Tumbleweed,” the banana spoke offhandedly with a slight nudge, “go find villagers unaffected, maybe still in their homes, and give them a good spraying, will you?”

Before the child could even think about protesting, Dr. Jones added a low, stern, “ _now_ ” to the end of that question that made Tumbleweed’s shoulders stiffen. Right.

Tumbleweed shut his eyes tight and gave a shaky inhale. _You can do this, Tumbleweed. You do it everyday. Just a li’l laughin’ gas, ain't gonna hurt nobody._

_You need to help these folks. They need your help. You can't just leave. You do this all the time._

_You're nothin’ if you ain't helpin’ nobody._

_It never hurts to help._

_“_ Tumbleweed. Did I stutter?” demanded Dr. Jones.

Right. Right right right. Shaking his head and recollecting his thoughts, Tumbleweed scrambled off into the village. The sound of fumes dispensing from a pressure chamber filled the air, and Tumbleweed kept his head low. Last thing he wanted was to breathe this in. He didn't think Dr. Jones would come back for him if he did.

He noticed children and women and men and pets and babies flocking in crowds, surrounding him, almost dizzying him with their speed and intensity. And, trying not to think, the child pulled the trigger of his gun, releasing nitrous into the air.

It was scary how immediately the villagers around him were intoxicated by the substance. They doubled over and broke out into hysterical laughter within seconds, grabbing ahold of their heads and sides, tears welling up in their eyes. Tumbleweed shut down and pressed foward, but he couldn't help but overhear the sobs of pain that followed, swirled into a mix of crying laughter that erupted the villagers behind him.

His hands were trembling. He kept spraying nitrous.

This was helping.

He remembered kicking open a door and dousing those within the house, and all that followed was crying and laughing and sobbing and pleas for help.

This was helping.

There was a mother and her child, on their knees, begging, pleading with tears rolling down their face, “please, don't do this, please,” and all Tumbleweed remembered was looking away and pulling the trigger.

This was helping.

He tried not to breathe in the fumes. His head rung with the sound of laughter, the sound of agony and sobs, the sound of screaming and pleading and trampling feet.

It wasn't painful. It wasn't that painful. This was helping.

Grop.

Tumbleweed felt sick.

The child’s eyes darted around for his mentor. The banana was his one beacon of hope and calm right now, because once this was over, he'd never have to think about this again. 

The villagers around him morphed into a swirl of brown as they rushed by, scrambling away from him as they pushed and shoved their way to safety. The nitrous was hurting his eyes, and they swelled with thick tears that obscured his vision. At least he didn’t have to see what was happening. He just sprayed and continued forward, sprayed and continued forward, grabbed villagers by their clothes or hair if he had to, and sprayed and continued forward.

Tumbleweed felt _sick._

After a little while of running around and spreading joy, the child was jolted back by the sudden jerk of his arm. His head snapped around, and he noticed a villager had grabbed him by the arm. Tightly. 

She was some sort of generic animal-like alien, with a plump, dark face and a brown cowl hiding her hair. Tumbleweed didn’t know why he didn’t shoot her with a douse of nitrous as she clawed and struggled for his gun. He tried not to look at the villagers as he did his job, but looking at her face right now…

Before he realized it, the nitrous gun was in her hands, and it was aimed directly at the child’s face. She was yelling something about his mask, but Tumbleweed wasn’t processing what was going on in the moment. He was entranced in a sort of dazed shock.

At this point he didn’t really mind if he got shot with it, so long as she was able to go free.

A voice from behind him, however, snapped Tumbleweed back to reality. 

“Tumbleweed! Think fast!”

Blinking, Tumbleweed glanced behind him and caught sight of Dr. Jones tossing him...something. The nomad caught it clumsily and fumbled with it for a moment before realizing what it was; a gun. A raygun. A _real_ raygun.

Oh no.

“Don’t just stand there, pal!” yelled Dr. Jones, motioning with his hands. “Take her out!”

_Oh no._

_Nononononononono._

Tumbleweed felt his heart drop at that demand, a million thoughts flooding into his mind at once. He had never-- he would _never_ take the life of anyone, he would never, ever, ever. He felt his breaths speed up and intensify as Dr. Jones’ demands grew louder and louder. No. No. No. Nononononononononononononono.

He eyed the woman scrambling for safety before hitting her back against the alley she had cornered herself in. The nitrous gun was still in her hands.

They were both yelling at him, pleading for him to do something. To do _something_.

Tumbleweed felt his hands tremble. He felt his whole body tremble. They were still yelling. The raygun was still in his hands. And before he knew it, the coiled barrel was pointed directly at the woman across from him, her desperate, begging, sobbing eyes staring into him. 

They were still yelling.

And with hands still trembling, heart still pounding, Tumbleweed shut his eyes.

And squeezed the trigger.

-

Tumbleweed didn’t speak for the rest of the day. Aside from the general nods and tilts of his head, the child didn’t have _anything_ to say.

He vaguely remembered Dr. Jones congratulating him and going on and on about what a great assistant he was and..a pun about “biting the bullet” and...yada yada yada. Tumbleweed wasn’t really listening. A few thoughts bounced along the inside of his skull, ruminating within his mind over and over and over and over again. All of them were the same thing.

_You’re a murderer._

The nomad’s head spun everytime it hit him. He took the life of another.

Usually these helping missions involved a lot of hand-on help. Tumbleweed had gotten used to going down to planets, unleashing inventions onto the folks. It was his whole job. But it had never gotten this bad. 

And now someone was dead because of him.

Tumbleweed ran his shaky hands through the orange fur atop his head. Dried tears stained his eyes. He hadn’t even realized he was crying.

His room was the only place he felt comfortable. Even if it was empty, aside from the sleek, hard table he used for sleeping, it was the only place he could be alone. He valued his alone time.

Right now, he had his back leaned against the maroon colored wall, his gaze locked directly upwards. He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t. He didn’t usually cry after these things, no matter how bad they got.

Memories of previous missions flooded his mind. He so clearly remembered the first one he had done. Accordion music that brainwashed people into being happy. It went pretty well. That planet of cat aliens smiled and laughed as they drove away. Dr. Jones even congratulated him.

Another mission involved sneaking into the medicine distribution of a planet of furniture people and replacing their antibiotics with pills that made your face permanently smile, forever. Nothing went wrong with that one. The smiles were creepy, but…

Another one had Tumbleweed take an entire galaxy captive within a theater so he and Dr. Jones could perform for them. That was an important one. The two built that mission up for months.

And now he was crying.

If these missions were so right, if helping people was so right, then why did it feel...wrong? Was he just twisted? Was he evil? Why didn’t he like helping people?

He wiped away the hot tears that swelled in his eyes. 

If taking the life of someone else was helping people, he didn’t want to do it.

He didn’t want to do this.

_And now someone was dead because of him._

Tumbleweed continued to wallow in his own self loathing for a few long moments, his shaky fingers digging into his head as he curled into a ball and broke down. He couldn’t stop crying now. The tears rolled down his face and stained his lab coat and plinked onto the cool floor below him.

His posture stiffened, however, as the automatic door to his room suddenly slid open. Dr. Jones was floating in the doorway, and Tumbleweed scrambled to sit upright and wipe away the remaining tears in his eyes. “Hiya sir.” greeted the nomad in a close-to-breaking voice. 

“Hey there, Tumbleweed!” the banana made his way into the nomad’s room without any sort of prompt, and in his hand were blueprints for...something. “These are blueprints for something!”

“Amazing…” Tumbleweed responded, trying not to let his tired voice sound sarcastic. 

“I’m so glad you asked. They’re blueprints for flame-powered rocket boots, ya see.” Dr. Jones floated down to the child’s level and sprawled the blueprints across the floor. Tumbleweed tried to focus on them, and focus on what he was saying, but the nomad’s mind was just...swimming with thoughts.

“I want you to test them out.” rambled Dr. Jones. “I followed these blueprints to the letter, so I should be on _fire_ with the functionality. I made a few _lighter_ adjustments to them, but these won’t break down like all the others, I assure you--”

“Dr. Jones, sir?” Tumbleweed asked, his head high and facing his mentor.

“Mm-hm.” was all the banana responded with.

“Is-- are we...we’re good guys, right?”

Tumbleweed could immediately tell that Jones was taken aback by that question. The child had never questioned his-- _their_ morality. A long silence lingered between the two before Dr. Jones spoke again.

“...Is making people happy bad, Tumbleweed?”

Tumbleweed shook his head. 

“Is spreading joy bad, Tumbleweed?”

Tumbleweed shook his head once again.

“Is helping people bad, Tumbleweed?”

The nomad...did not immediately respond. He didn’t like helping people, but...he had to. Who knows what Dr. Jones would do to him should he turn down one thing he existed to do. And so, after a few seconds of hesitation, the nomad shook his head.

“Then that answers your question, doesn’t it?” Jones returned, his attention already shifting back to his blueprints.

Tumbleweed blinked. So that’s how it was? Helping people was good, no matter what? “But--” he blurted out, unable to contain his thoughts any longer, “I-I...I killed someone! I-I-I shot ‘er square in the chest with a raygun, ain’t that--”

“We’re done with this conversation, Tumbleweed.”

“Ain’t that _bad_ ??” Tumbleweed continued, his heart pounding. He never continued speaking when Dr. Jones told him not to, but now… “Ain’t killin’ folks what _bad_ guys do??”

“That is _enough,_ Tumbleweed!” the mentor snapped back. “People can’t just deny our help! Do you know what that makes them, huh? Do you know what that makes them?” He was now staring down the child below him. “It makes them _bad_ ! You’re not _bad_ for killing bad people! It makes you a hero!”

“I killed a woman!” Tumbleweed yelled back, tears streaming down his face. “I’m not a hero! And you know what--” the child began, words bubbling up in his throat, “you’re not a hero, either! _You are a villain!”_

That was all it took for the silence to drop between the two, lingering and filling the air like a toxic fume. Tumbleweed felt his heart pound. He felt his heart _race_. 

And before he realized it, his legs had scrambled upwards and now he was running out of the room, down the corridor, so close to the door with the keypad and _what was the keypad combination what was the combination what was the--_

His fingers were shaking so badly that he could hardly bring them to the buttons, but he did, and he pressed that same stupid combination he had seen Dr. Jones input _so many times, so many times every day and now--_

The door opened so quickly, and he felt his entire body be tugged by the pressure of space, sucking and pulling and ripping him right out of the spaceship.

And with quick thinking, with rapid thinking, his fingers grazed the bottle of orbble juice on the shelf next to the door. Every muscle in his body gravitated out of the ship so quickly, so intensely, and with baited breath, the bottle slipped off of the shelf and landed into his palm.

And that’s all it took.

Tumbleweed felt himself being launched into space, and the ship shrank farther and farther along his sight in mere seconds.

_I can’t breathe, can’t breathe, gotta get this orbble-- gotta get it, gotta get it, gotta--_

With shaky movements, he unscrewed the cap of the orbble bottle and dug his fingers around the sticky interior, searching for that stupid pink wand he saw-- _here it is! thank grop, thank grop--_

The wand practically flew into the air with how fast he swiped it, and almost immediately, a bright blue orbble encased his body.

Right in that second, the child took the biggest breath he had ever taken.

And Dr. Jones’ ship was nowhere in sight.


	2. The Helpless: 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What will little Tumbleweed do now?

All Tumbleweed could think to do was run.

All he could think to do was move his feet along the inside of the orbble and watch as the inky expanse of space around him flooded away with the panicked thoughts that followed. Run. Run. Run. Keep running. Don’t look back.

He had no idea how these orbble things worked, but he was moving, and his only goal was to keep moving. He didn’t know how far Dr. Jones was from him. 

This whole idea was stupid and impulsive and freeing and exciting. Tumbleweed felt like simultaneously throwing up and doing a little happy dance. 

He was throwing away everything Dr. Jones-- everything _Screwball_ gave to him. He was being selfish and rash, and soon he was going to lose everything.

But now he was out, now he was free, now he didn’t have to worry about making people happy. Now he didn’t have to worry about lessons and testing and stitching up his own wounds.

Now he had nothing.

Now he had everything.

And now the galaxy zipped faster and faster along his sight, the orbble only speeding up with each shaky breath he powered through. 

Space was so big and empty and dark, and it felt like Tumbleweed had been running for hours. Or minutes. Or seconds. Time didn’t seem to be moving right now. 

Wait. Wait. Stop. Catch your breath.

Tumbleweed grounded his footing for a moment, for a brief moment, and tried to make out his surroundings. There were distant stars swirled into the coal-colored void he had found himself in, as well as a few far off pieces of meteorite, but otherwise...he was alone. There were no planets in sight. Turning his head back, Screwball’s ship wasn’t around either.

He was alone.

He was

_The Helpless: 2_

...He took a long, shaky breath. 

He didn’t exactly consider the long term goals of running away, and right now he didn’t have any idea where he wanted to end up. Maybe a little planet, by himself, where nobody would bother him or ask for his help. 

He shook his head and brushed off the fantasy. He had memorized the galaxy map from Screwball’s ship, but it wasn’t exactly helpful in his current situation. Space looked the same everywhere you went. So, taking another deep breath, the nomad took a few steps forward once again. Then another few steps. And before he knew it, the orbble was moving steadily beneath his feet, his eyes glued to what was directly in front of him.

The child continued on like this for minutes, and he was still walking, still moving forward. He still hadn’t seen anything beyond the stars that illuminated his way.

He was getting good at this orbble thing. 

And minutes slipped into hours, and he was still walking. Still hadn’t seen anything.

And more handfuls of time came and went.

He was still moving forward.

He still hadn’t seen anything.

There was a looming feeling of worry stuck in the back of Tumbleweed’s mind. A feeling that he’d keep walking forever, a feeling that Screwball’s ship would come in at any moment and scoop him back up, a feeling that soon this orbble would pop and he would drift into the endless expanse of space and die within seconds.

Well. At least that third one was unlikely. Tumbleweed had never seen these things pop. In fact, he had no idea how to pop it himself. Screwball did it too fast for the child to even realize what was happening. But that seemed like a problem to be dealt with when he got to it. Right now, his only goal was to move forward.

And move forward he did, his feet steadily moving in correlation with his breaths; calm and evenly spaced. If he kept walking, eventually he’d find something. That’s what he told himself.

...Space was big. He wondered how much distance he had made between himself and Screwball, if any. He wondered if he’d ever find out.

He shook his head. He wanted to try cutting out the negative thoughts. Right now, he was the only one who was going to get him through this. He was the only one he could rely on. He had to be positive. So he kept walking, kept moving, repeated that in his head, and repeated it again.

He was getting tired.

The child slumped down, his back leaned against the squishy surface of the orbble. It wouldn’t kill him to take just a little break. He could hear his breaths bounce off the walls, rapid and huffy and tired, so he gave a long, deep inhale. Then let it out.

He felt his consciousness momentarily drift, his eyes and his head both the same level of heavy. It seemed like he’d been walking for hours, yet everything moved by so fast. He was...so tired. So, scanning his surroundings for safety, the child then closed his eyes.

And everything washed away for a moment.

…Before he could even process any sort of rest, Tumbleweed was jolted awake by the sudden collision of his orbble. The entire bubble rumbled with the immediate impact, something that triggered the nomad’s fight or flight response, making his heart pound and his eyes go wide. He was awake.

His eyes darted around as he dizzily tried to make out his surroundings. He had collided with something hard, rocky, of a grayish-lavender-- something big, and vaguely curved at it’s horizon…

A planet! A rather small one, but a planet nonetheless!

Smacking his head with the palm of his hand in an attempt to test his consciousness, Tumbleweed then brought his feet to the surface of the orbble facing the planet, before bouncing upwards with enough force to pull him towards the giant rock before him. His feet drew towards the planet at an alarmingly gradual speed until the entire bubble smacked against the dirt and the rocks with a loud thud. 

The orbble still hadn’t popped.

Tumbleweed, with shaky movements, took a few steps forward. Then another few steps. And before he knew it, he was running and jumping along the surface of the planet, so blissfully happy and free and alone. He had done it! He had finally done it, he’d found a planet just for him and now he’d be able to--

“Hey, you someone’s lost dog or somethin’?”

The unfamiliar voice made Tumbleweed’s shoulder’s stiffen, and his movements skid to a halt. He snapped his head around. Standing before him was someone large and bulky, their body divided between bright purple skin and rusted mechanical parts that most noticeably padded half of their face. 

Oh no.

“Hello?” the cyborg spoke, waving a hand before Tumbleweed’s shocked and fearful face. 

The nomad blinked his eyes before immediately scrambling backwards, landing on the bottom surface of his orbble in an attempt to shield himself with his arms. (Something that proved fruitless, considering he was already encased within a giant bubble…)

“Woah, woah! Calm down!” the stranger immediately returned. Their hands rose up defensively. “Jeez! I ain’t gonna rob ya, if that’s what you’re thinkin’!”

Tumbleweed emitted a few rapid breaths, saying nothing, his eyes glued onto the person across from him. Who was this? Were they here to drag him back to Screwball? Were they just going to kill him? He internally crossed his fingers and hoped it was the latter.

“Can you-- do you even understand what I’m sayin’, kid?”

Tumbleweed blinked. They were...talking to him. Was it...rude not to reply?

“Y-- uh, yeah...sir…?” Sir? Was that right? That was the only formal address he had known. But that didn’t sound right.

The cyborg cocked an eyebrow. “You uh, you aren’t from around here, huh?”

Oh no. They knew it. They knew everything. They were going to take him back to Screwball, this was the end, this--

“Woah, woah! Hey!” the stranger interjected once again. Tumbleweed just realized how panicked he must seem, his arm cranked back like some kind of spider… “Look, look, kid. Just calm down. Come inside for a moment, I’ll call your parents, okay?”

Inside? There was an inside?

“Look, over there, see?” The cyborg pointed to a shabby looking building in the distance. ”Can you just follow me over there?”

He had a house on this planet? By himself? Oh-- wait, Tumbleweed was being asked a question. What was polite? Was it more polite to answer or stay quiet?

“Yes. S-sir.” was all Tumbleweed responded with, prompting another confused look from the alien. The nomad scrambled upwards, quickly trying to regain his balance. He then took a few steps forward. The orbble moved along with him. And following suit, Tumbleweed trailed behind this kind stranger as they neared the distant building. He could still feel his heart pounding. Was that good?

The building in question was much more run down in person, dotted with hanging boards and chipped paint. Flimsily framed, to start off, with shattered windows, and noticeable holes in the so clearly rotting wood. But otherwise, it looked something like...a shop. Tumbleweed had never been inside of a shop. He’d seen them from Screwball’s ship, but..

“It looks- this house. This...shop looks real...good, sir.” was all Tumbleweed could manage to mutter out. Talking to people was hard when they weren’t asking you a question or telling you to do something. 

“Uh, okay, first thing’s first, kid: you can cut out the ‘sir’ nonsense.” the other responded. “It’s Thrax.”

Huh. Thrax. “Of course, s-- Thrax.”

Thrax said nothing to that as he opened the creaky door, gesturing the child to take a step inside. Tumbleweed looked to him, then to the door, and took a single step forward-- before feeling his entire body bounce backwards. The child blinked his eyes, dazed. 

“Uh, it’s...you can’t-- it’s your orbble, kid. You gotta pop it.

Tumbleweed blinked once again. “How?”

“You don’t know how to p-- okay. Okay.” Thrax dug into his pocket and pulled out something small and sleek, and pressing the button revealed a blade to flip out of the end. He then pressed the blade against the surface of the orbble, and with a clean pop, the child dropped to the ground. 

Tumbleweed felt his face, then moved his hands to the ground. Soil. So soft. He never got to feel it, but he had always wanted to.

“What are you d--” Thrax started, before holding up his hands. “Okay. Okay. Don’t question the weird bubble kid. Just-- come inside.”

Tumbleweed looked up at him. He pushed himself off of the ground and shambled into the building before him. Grains of dust were embedded into his palms. He liked the feeling.

The inside of the shop wasn’t incredibly nice, but Tumbleweed took note of the softly colored carpets beneath his feet, and the towering yet ornate looking bookcases that surrounded him. The entire room smelled of dust, and the brownish-beigish theme of the walls and floors was...pleasant. Was this a store for...books? Absurd.

“Okay, so, you know your parents’ number?” Thrax asked, who had already made his way to the counter, and was dialing something into his telephone.

“My parents? What is that?” Tumbleweed asked, looking to him with a blank expression. “If you uh, don’t mind me askin’...”

Thrax went silent and returned the look. “You don’t know your parents.”

“No? I don’t think I have one a’ those.”

“So...where did you come from?”

“My...ship.” Tumbleweed averted his gaze. He didn’t really want to say much more than that. 

“Your ship. So...you an orphan?”

“P--....probably?” What was he talking about? “My name is Tumbleweed.”

“...Cool…”

A long pause lingered between them. Tumbleweed could just feel how thick his awkwardness had made the atmosphere. Thrax asked him so many things and said so many...strange words. And judging by how unfamiliar everything around him was, the child was starting to suspect that there were a _lot_ of things Screwball has kept from him.

“Is this your house?” the nomad asked, disregarding the previous conversation.

“N--no…” Thrax promptly responded. “It’s my...bookstore. I wanna run an independent bookstore one day, but I can’t...I don’t have a good reach to people. Fellas gotta read my books for there to be a bookstore, but…”

Tumbleweed gave him a somewhat uneasy stare.

“...so...kid…” Thrax continued. His voice was noticeably slower now. “I’m gonna send out a missin’ kid report, okay? So you’re just gonna...stay here for a bit. Got it?”

Tumbleweed nervously played with his fingers. Maybe it’d be better if he didn’t respond to these questions. Taking his silence as an answer, Thrax began to dial some more things into his telephone. The nomad wanted to learn how to use one of those one day.

Not knowing what to do, the child grabbed a book from the shelf beside him, and slumped down to the floor. He knew how to read, but he was still immediately put off by the cover. It was so...colorful. The words were so big and bright. He had only ever seen research books. He had no idea there were...others. 

Opening it up to the first page, Tumbleweed moved his gaze along the words. Something about a “Jessica” and “her house.” After a few minutes of reading, Tumbleweed realized that “Jessica” was the name of a person. This book was a...story. In book form. He had no idea that was possible. It was incredible. 

The nomad became so engrossed with this mysterious Jessica, and the incredulous tales following her life and house, that he hadn’t realized that Thrax was speaking to him. Knowing this, he immediately slammed the book shut and gave him a fearful look. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t-- I wasn’t payin’-- I didn’t hear ya talkin’ to me, I--”

“Hey, shh, kid, look.” Thrax interrupted. “Nobody’s come for you yet. It’s been hours.” It’s been hours? How long had he been reading? “So, if ya want, you can sleep in my store for the night. So long as you don’t make a mess of the place.”

Tumbleweed blinked. “Wh-- really? You’d-- ...why?”

“Why what?” returned Thrax.

“Why are you lettin’ me...sleep in your store?”

“Well, I dunno? I’m being a nice guy? Something about helping the less fortunate?”

Tumbleweed’s shoulders stiffened at that word. “...h-helping _me_?”

“...Uh...yeah.” Thrax rubbed the back of his head.

“But you…” Tumbleweed stared blankly. “You ain’t doin’ nothin’...bad. You’re just...lettin’ me stay at your store.” 

“Well it’s...isn’t that...kinda what helping is?” 

That single question made the nomad’s mind go blank. What Thrax was doing wasn’t “helping.” Helping involved inventions and lasers and captive theater audiences. Helping involved forcing people to be happy. Helping involved climbing into the windows of drug stores and replacing their antibiotics with smile pills.

....Right?

Thrax's voice continued on, and he said something locking up the store if Tumbleweed planned to leave. The child didn’t really catch everything he was told. His mind raced with thoughts, wiring and rewiring the definition of “help” in his mind. Helping was...bad.

Helping was bad.

Right?

-

When Thrax came in that day, Tumbleweed was already leaning against the counter, wide awake and flipping through the dusty pages of another storybook. Thrax entered somewhat cautiously, nervously eyeing the shelves around him, and took a few steps towards the nomad before speaking.

“...Hey buddy,” he started, “you...good? You’re doin’ good?”

Tumbleweed slammed the book closed and shot the other a blank look. “Yes. I think I know what to do about your store.”

Thrax was immediately taken aback. He blinked his eyes for a moment. “What.”

“I remember you sayin’ somethin’ about needin’ to ‘reach people,’ or somethin’,” the child returned, “so I wrote the name of the store on one-hundred books. A-a-and I got orbbles, that ain’t a problem, so I can just go over there ‘n drop em off--”

“Wh-- what-- why??” Thrax was still in a daze.

“Because you said helpin’ means bein’ a ‘nice guy,’ and I dunno if it _counts_ as helpin’, but I gathered up every single book I liked and I wanna spread them around the nearest planet, because ‘it never hurts to help’ as Dr. Jones would say, ‘n if I ain’t helpin’ people then I’m nothin’, and I have no reason to exist, _‘n Dr. Jones would probably yell at me if I passed an opportunity to help--”_

_“_ Woah, woah, chill!” Thrax had his hands raised. “It’s-- I mean, it’s a nice offer, but, how would ya even go--”

“Orbbles.” Tumbleweed interrupted.

“...Okay but how would ya know where to--”

“Map.” the child spoke once again, holding up a crumpled up map of the galaxy he had found wedged between a book.

“Uh...well…” Thrax rubbed his head. “I guess I can’t fight ya on this. I mean, if you really...want to….”

It’s not that Tumbleweed wanted to, it’s that he _had_ to. The constant fear of getting in trouble for not helping, for betraying his sole purpose to exist, _to help_ , was breathing down his neck, always. Even though Thrax definition of “helping” seemed to be different from Screwball’s and his own, maybe it still counted. 

It was confusing and scary to think about. Tumbleweed couldn’t help but notice that...lingering itch. The itch to help someone. The itch to make people happy. Screwball’s words rang in the back of his mind, “it never hurts to help.”

He didn’t really have a reason to exist when he wasn’t helping people. It felt...wrong to exist. Screwball had reminded him so many times, _so_ many times that his sole purpose was to spread joy and help people. It was sort of a...compulsion. An urge that only grew more intense each time he thought about.

Even if Screwball wasn’t here, Tumbleweed’s mind was constantly telling him that he was. And it was terrifying. 

“I’d-- I promise I’ll be back before ya know it,” Tumbleweed continued, “and I’ll keep in touch with ya while I’m there, and--”

“Okay, alright, I already said you could, kid.”

That was all Tumbleweed needed to straighten his coat and get a move on, and within an hour he was ready to leave. The bottle of orbble juice was safely placed in his pocket, should he ever need it again. 

He wasn’t really sure where he wanted to go. But all the books he had read described the universe as so...big, and vast, and filled with so many beautiful and wonderful sights. There was also a planet just big enough to do his job not too far away, described as “the capital.” He wasn’t sure what that meant, but the way Thrax described it seemed to be important.

Tumbleweed gave the cyborg a friendly wave as he left, his arms full of books and flyers (the latter of which Thrax claimed would “get better traction for the store than a bunch of vandalised books,” whatever that meant), and, waving the bubble wand in the air, enclosing himself in a large, glossy orbble, the child was off.

He had already gotten a handle on maneuvering the orbble to do what he wanted, and he had to admit, it was a handy invention. He kind of wished Screwball would let him use them back then.

He didn’t want to think about Screwball.

With quick feet, Tumbleweed made his way deeper into the inky darkness that made up space, the stars around him glistening like rhinestones. He passed a lot of nothing for what seemed like hours, and he had to admit that he was eager to see the sights that awaited him. He was there to do a job, but...there were so many things he had never seen. 

It only took a few more hours until he finally reached somewhere, but boy was he glad he kept moving. The planet he arrived at was so beautiful, filled with glossy, chrome architecture that practically kissed the sky. Silver streets aligned the buildings, each store and house so beautifully different and unique that he couldn't help but stop and admire it. Women and children and men and pets strolled along the sidewalks, slipping around the intersection, some talking and laughing, some shopping…

He slowly but steadily lowered his orbble to the ground, trying to retain his balance as he landed. People busily rushed by him, not even noticing his presence, and the nomad couldn’t help but admire them.

These people sort of reminded him of the village planet-- _nonononono, we ain’t gonna think about that._

For the first few days, Tumbleweed quietly kept to himself, saying nothing as he handed out flyers to the people who passed him. What would he even say?

He slept beneath a bench and got his food out of a nearby trashcan, which proved to be a good deal. Someone threw away half of a veggie burger in there! Incredible!

On the fourth day, Tumbleweed tried to make conversation as he handed out books. His silence and staring seemed to scare people off. But he’d keep trying. 

He tried going to different places, different stores and gatherings and events. He’d leave flyers on tables, he’d stick them to the walls, sometimes he’d even slip them into folks’ pockets.

He met so many new faces and learned so many new names with the coming days. People were strange, and cool, and nice, and mean, and funny and boring and quiet and loud, but Tumbleweed was still... awkward. It took him a while to understand how talking to people worked. Screwball was the only person he had known, for his entire life, and meeting people who were so much nicer was...off putting. 

Talking to passersby proved to be more difficult than anything. They’d say things like “can you point me to the nearest gas station” and Tumbleweed would stare at them silently for an entire minute. Conversation was weird in and of itself. He could just...talk, whenever he wanted to? He didn’t have to ask permission? Just the idea of it made Tumbleweed start to sweat. What would he even talk about? Books? The sun? The dirt? The stars? Thrax? His laboat? Telephones?

Huh. There were a lot of things to talk about, Tumbleweed realized.

Actually, Tumbleweed found himself talking about way more than he needed to when prompted. He allowed himself to engage in conversation, but it didn’t take too long for that to lean into oversharing. He clearly remembered an old lady coming up and asking him something about a missing dog, and the nomad, without missing a beat, responded with,

“Hi! My name’s Tumbleweed! Do ya like books? This book’s about a dog. I once went to a planet run entirely by dogs. I wonder how that language system’d work. They speak english? Or some kinda alien dog language? Would normal dogs be able to understand ‘em? Maybe when ya find your dog you could ask ‘em. Wait, do you speak dog? I only know english. These are all the words I know in english,”

and then proceeded to list every single word he knew in alphabetical order.

Which put a few people off. The nomad had to choose between saying nothing or saying everything, and a lot of folks didn’t understand that. 

Even if he didn’t like to admit it, Tumbleweed found himself more drawn to people who reminded him of Screwball. People who were mean, and villainous, and manipulative. He tended to be more comfortable in the company of villains than people who were actually nice to him, because being treated as a real person was so...weird. Uncomfortably weird.

One he particularly liked was someone named Major Threat. Tumbleweed met him on the thirteenth day, at a villain meet and greet on his way to pass out books, and practically clung to his side ever since. Even if Major didn’t enjoy Tumbleweed's company, the nomad sure enjoyed his. They bonded over things like...books. They both enjoyed books. Major pushed the child away every time he tried to speak to him, but that seemed like a good start.

Cold, unfeeling indifference was the kind of affection Tumbleweed was used to. Villains tended to treat him this way.

Villains seemed like they could make good friends. 

Screwball was a villain.

...He didn’t want to be friends with Screwball.

On the eighteenth day, Tumbleweed kept to himself. He wanted to catch up on reading. He managed to collect enough street change to get himself something nice, and one trinket he was particularly drawn to was something called a “magazine.” Flipping open the first page and trailing his eyes along the words, the child was immersed within seconds. It was a book...about real life? Amazing.

There was something, however, that caught the nomad’s eye. A certain headline about...a civil war in the Andrameda galaxy. And, with a quick call from Thrax, they were indeed in the Andrameda galaxy. With another quick call from Thrax, Tumbleweed also learned what “civil war” meant.

“Why would they be fightin’??” Tumbleweed asked, slapping his hand against the magazine dramatically, the receiver of the phone pressed onto his non-existent ear. 

“Somethin’ to do with a hat.” Thrax’s voice sounded funny through the phone. He had never used one of these before. “A hat, that’s tearin’ our two leaders apart, or...somethin’. I don’t get into politics. But what I do know is that hat...it’s magic. It can give you _whatever_ you ask for.”

Tumbleweed blinked his eyes. “So...they’re takin’ advantage of it.”

“...Wh-- no. It’s a hat. It doesn’t have feelings.”

Tumbleweed thought differently. But he didn’t say anything about it.

During their call, Tumbleweed also found out that his assistance had brought in a lot of customers. And that seemed to make Thrax happy.

Not a laughing gas, smile pills kind of happiness. A _genuine_ happiness.

On the twenty third day, there was a riot.

Poor, rich, young, old, men and women alike, were stomping along the glossy street, their arms filled with flags and banners, chanting, demanding the civil war to be brought to an end.

Tumbleweed watched viligalantly from the street corner, but had no desire to get tangled up in something like that. He heard talk of “hats” and “two kings,” and more things reminiscent of that magazine he had read. It still wasn’t entirely clear what was going on. He was a bit curious to see the root of the commotion for himself.

It didn’t take too long for the child to reach the palace, tall and sleek and painted in silver, with towering pillars and large, sparkling windows. There were so many people surrounding it, all chanting different things, their horde of voices creating nothing but white noise within Tumbleweed’s mind.

And nobody really noticed when he climbed over the gate and slipped inside.

He didn’t know if he was allowed to be doing this, pushing open the palace doors and starting down the endlessly extending halls, but nobody had tried to stop him yet. Then again, he was so small. Maybe nobody knew he had gotten in.

And he so easily reached the staircase, too, the refined stone beneath his feet making a echoing “clack” with each step he took. He could hear something going on upstairs. It sounded like...yelling.

Everything seemed to move so fast then.

The first thing the nomad remembered was opening a pair of gold-lined double doors, and being greeted to the sight of two elderly men, the two kings, yelling at each other and throwing obscured glass objects that shattered upon impact.

Then he noticed that green hat, strapped to the table.

And in that moment, Screwball’s words echoed in his mind, again and again and again,

_it never hurts to help._

And it was then that Tumbleweed disregarded _everything_ he knew about helping. Every awful memory, every crime he ever committed, every argument he ever lost. That wasn’t “helping.”

Forcing people to be happy wasn’t “helping.”

Murdering a woman with a raygun wasn’t “helping.”

...And before he even realized it, the nomad was taking off, clutching that green hat atop his head as tightly as his fists could squeeze; his footsteps clacking and clattering and tip tapping down the stairs and down the hallway, as the angry screams of the two kings followed behind.

The last thing he remembered was pushing open the palace doors, pulling out his orbble bottle, and waving that little wand so quickly that the two kings didn’t even see him take off.

-

Tumbleweed wasn’t really sure why he did it. 

He still didn’t know what helping meant, but holding that green hat atop his head as he leaned his back against the surface of the orbble, he felt…

Good.

Was helping supposed to make you feel good…? Was helping supposed to make others _feel_ good?

It was such a weird idea. 

In the following days, Tumbleweed steered clear of the capital. It didn’t seem like taking this hat was a good thing, and he definitely didn’t want to get into more trouble than he already was in.

He saw so many things in the span of four days. Sunrises, sunsets, snow, lava, people, places, things he had never even known. 

He passed the village planet, too.

But he didn’t go down there.

Within a few more days, Tumbleweed had witnessed volcanic eruptions, solar eclipses, tidal waves...so many things were happening in the universe all at once. And he could go wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted to.

...He could do whatever he wanted.

Upon realizing this, the child looked down at his labcoat. The same labcoat-- the same life that had held him back for so long, had made him so unhappy and stressed and awkward, the same life that had gotten him hurt so many times…

His movements were shaky now.

Bringing his trembling hand to his coat, he ran his fingertips along the coarse sleeve. 

With a shaky breath, he then clutched the sleeve in his hand.

And, 

without hesitation, 

Tumbleweed pulled the coat off,

and threw it to the wind.

...Weeks followed Tumbleweed’s wandering endeavors. He had gotten better at talking to people, even if he did tend to be a bit...hyperactive, at times. He picked up new ways of speaking from the people he met, things like “howdy” and “fellers”...they were fun words, and fun to say. He tended to overuse them, but at this point, him talking too much was nothing new.

He tried to meet up with his old friends, too. He ran into Major Threat at a galactic conjunction, and the little nomad had so many things to tell him…

After a few months, the child felt like he had gotten pretty well acquainted with the galaxy, and the galaxies surrounding it. He knew so many names now. So many places.

…

  
  


...When Tumbleweed opened his eyes, everything was dark. His shoulders were bound by...something. Something coarse and scratchy, and…

A bag. He was in a bag.

Upon realizing this, the child began to hyperventilate, kicking and scratching and clawing for any way out. Screwball had found him. Screwball had found him, and now he was going to take him back to the ship and--

Wait. Tumbleweed stopped for a moment. He could hear...the sound of jingling bells and heavy footsteps. Whoever was kidnapping him had _feet_. He gave a sigh of relief and relaxed his shoulders.

Oh, wait, no-- he was still being kidnapped! That’s bad!

“Hello?” Tumbleweed cried, his voice shaky. “Hey, hey, hello? Can ya hear me?”

The voice that returned was unfamiliar, and...feminine. “Be quiet.”

“Can you tell me where I am??” pleaded the nomad.

“I told you to _be quiet.”_

Tumbleweed brought his knees to his chest. He hadn’t done it in a while, but taking orders was the one thing he was good at. Perhaps he had gotten too comfortable with the wandering life…

Minutes of silence passed between Tumbleweed and his mysterious kidnapper. A million thoughts raced through the child’s head.

Who was looking for him? Why would they want him? Where was he being taken to? What did he do?

Every answer pointed to the green hat on his head.

And after a few minutes of contemplation, Tumbleweed came to the realization that maybe it wasn’t safe to be Tumbleweed anymore. He had never been an outlaw, but…

“What’s the deal with that hat of yours, anyway?” his kidnapper spoke, interrupting the silence. “Why’s everyone so worked up over it, huh?”

The child blinked. “...It’s-- ah, it’s magic, I think.” He had never seen it do anything magic, but then again he found it strapped to a table. “I wanted to help it. It...never hurts to help, ehehe…” 

That response made the woman laugh. A hearty, low laugh that echoed through the air. “That’s so stupid. It’s _a hat.”_

“Yeah?” the nomad scrunched his face, not quite understanding. “It’s a hat.”

“Well-- whatever.” the woman returned. “If you wanna get yourself killed, that’s your business.”

The child didn’t respond to that. Helping had nearly gotten him killed so many times before. That was in the definition, basically.

Then again, at this point, what was the definition of helping?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden jostle of his bag. He could hear something clamoring beyond the confines of the fabric, people stomping and yelling, and he could feel himself moving. Quickly.

Then he heard the woman yell something about “bounty,” addressing whoever “Killbot--85” was...but she sounded farther away now. Before he could even process what was happening, he felt himself go weightless, as if he had been tossed into the air-- before impacting with something rocky and hard below him. 

He was curled into a ball now. He had always known how to protect himself in situations like these.

And after a few minutes of yelling, clamoring commotion, the nomad was blinded by the bright light of his bag untying, revealing the face of a...zbornak. A zbornak woman. He had never seen one in person, but...seeing her face caused his shoulders to loosen. His kidnapper, presumably…

Was she saving him?

“Never hurts to help,” she spoke, before adding a cocky “yourself” to the end of it. Before the child could react, the bag he was enclosed in had been thrown over her back. “C’mon ya wanderin’ weirdo.”

The child blinked. 

With a smile, he commented, “...Wander.” It had a nice ring to it. Significantly better than Tumbleweed. “Huh. I like the sound ‘a that!”

-

Wander didn't know where he was going, but he and this woman seemed to walk for hours. Every time he asked her a question, she responded with a vague and cocky answer that didn't really tell him anything

One thing he got out of it, however, was that her name was Sylvia. And she was a bounty hunter.

Wander didn't know what “bounty” meant, either. He didn't know if he was supposed to be scared or excited, so he leaned towards the latter. Being positive was really all he had in the moment.

So Wander, being his awkwardly hyperactive and oversharing self, simply _had_ to point out every single thing around him he found interesting.

And everytime Sylvia heard him say “look at that mountain” or “look at that cactus” or “look at that cactus mountain”, she inched closer and closer to ripping her hair out.

This little weirdo was...weird. He talked about everything and anything. He was so bubbly and happy and excitable, almost like he had no idea where she was taking him.

She tried to ignore him, but he just kept...talking. The good thing was that when she told him to shut up, he did. And he stayed quiet until he was spoken to again.

... _Was_ that a good thing?

When nightfall came, and the sun had dipped into the distant horizon, Sylvia decided it was time to call it a night. She noticed that Wander was perfectly fine with sleeping in the bag, tied up on the cold rocky ground. He was comfortable with it, actually.

That's...fine. She was comfortable with it, too.

As she leaned her back against a sturdy pile of rocks, however, she noticed something...else.

“What are you doing?” she asked with narrowed eyes.

The child, unable to move his bound limbs, had a stick...in his mouth, and was drawing something into the dirt. Upon realizing she had spoken to him, he blinked his eyes, and simply responded with, “helping.”

When Sylvia peered over, she saw that he had drawn an arrow into the dirt, and a line of ants were trailing alongside it. The arrow was pointing to some kind of hole in the gr-- _oh my grop he was directing the ants towards their colony._

The zbornak slapped her forehead with her hand upon realizing this, letting the hand slide down her face. “They're _ants_! Why are you helping them??”

And to nobody's suprise, he responded with, “it never hurts to help.”

He did a lot of these things throughout the night. Small little, stupidly nice things. Talking to animals, building rock towers with his mouth...it was like he had some sort of weird devotion to helping people.

And when she told him to stop doing that, all he said was that “he had to.”

Sylvia didn't ask about that.

...

Deeper into the night, Wander had found himself still wide awake. The zbornak lady had fallen asleep hours ago, so the child’s gaze drifted to the glittering sky above him. 

...He wondered where Screwball was.

He wondered if he was looking for him.

Wander had tried not to think about Dr. Jones in the past months that he had been on his own. But he couldn't help it. That life had seeped into every single thought the child had, and every single decision he made, since the moment he left.

...Wander had come to the conclusion that Screwball was a villain.

Normally Wander liked the company of villains, but Screwball was...different. Screwball was _evil_. And even if he didn't like to say it, Screwball was irredeemable.

No. Nono. Bad Wander. Nobody was irredeemable.

...If Wander ever had to see Screwball again, he wasn't sure how he'd react. Screwball wasn't someone who he could befriend. Not like Thrax, or Major Threat…

...would he be in charge of stopping Screwball, if the situation came up?

The nomad shook his head. He didn't want to do that. Maybe that was something to think about at a later time. 

...Looking to Sylvia, Wander considered how comfortable she looked sleeping. His arms were still bound by the bag tie, but...with a bit of effort, he shimmied over to her and…

...very hesitantly, leaned his head onto her.

And, almost immediately, Sylvia sleepily wrapped her arm around the child, which took him by surprise for a brief moment. He was sure that if she were awake and aware of what was going on, she wouldn't be doing this, but…

Well. Wander just closed his eyes. 

He didn't know how long he'd be with Sylvia, but he wanted to enjoy it while he could.

After everything he had gone through, after everything he had been put through, he felt like things were going to get just a little bit better from now on.

He was really hoping for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading this story! i might add more to this eventually, but i was able to wrap up everything i wanted to in the end.  
> this was basically a completed story of wander's past and hurt and recovery, and thats not something ive ever written about. i hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> edit: after a bit of thinking i realized that i did not wrap up everything i wanted to, so i will probably be adding a third and final chapter to this soon :]


	3. The Helpless: 3

“What in grop’s name are you-- get off of me!”

Wander was jolted awake by Sylvia’s throaty voice before feeling a hard foot slam his back.

When he opened his eyes, his vision met with the dusty, rocky ground he had face planted onto. He was dizzy and tired, and could feel the warm morning sun above him. Without thinking, he grabbed ahold of the hat atop his head, and gave a breath of relief to feel the soft material between his fingers. Still there.

“What the flarp were you doing??” Sylvia demanded, and within seconds, Wander could feel himself being lifted into the air by his scruff. “You-- I’m not your pillow, ya weirdo!!”

Suddenly the vivid memory of Wander’s late night indiscretion had returned to him. Shoot. “Sor-- I’m sorry,” the child stammered, his eyes meeting with the narrowed glare of the zbornak across from him, “I didn’t-- it was late, I wasn’t thinkin’, I’m awfully sorry ma’am!!”

The nomad then felt Sylvia’s grip on him slip, and his rear plummet with the ground below. 

“Whatever.” she returned, rather curtly. “Don’t let that happen again, got it?”

Wander gave a meek nod, and Sylvia tied him into that coarse beige sack once again. He must have slipped out of it last night. She was _lucky_ he didn’t dart off as soon as he had the chance.

...Judging by his toothy smile as she tightened the bagtie, she probably didn’t have to worry about that happening, anyways.

And with a huff, Sylvia threw the bag over her shoulders, feeling his small body impact onto her back.

And once again, he was

_The Helpless: 3_

Maybe she could get him to the capital today, if she moved steadily. She tried to steer clear of the capital when she could, but the price for the kid’s head was just too high. She couldn’t help but wonder, though, what he could have done that warranted such a large bounty. She knew it was _something_ about a hat, but...not much else. Politics wasn’t really her thing.

And so, making sure all of her things were collected, the zbornak and her bounty started off once again. And once again, the nomad pointed out every little nook and cranny his eyes landed on.

“Look! Look,” Wander started, “look at that bear! I ain’t ever seen a bear ‘round these parts! In fact, I ain’t ever seen a bear! Wow! It’s so big! ‘N it’s got somethin’ in its mouth! Look at it!”

The child then cupped his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice. “HEY! HEY BEAR! HIYA! WHAT’CHA GOT THERE! IN YOUR MOUTH! WHAT’CH--”

“ _Kid_ .” Sylvia interjected with a groan. “For the love of grop, _shut_ your _mouth_.” 

And that was all it took for Wander’s voice to come to a halt, and for his attention to lock directly onto the Zbornak in front of him. “ _...sorry.”_

Sylvia felt her shoulders momentarily stiffen. This kid did that a lot. The “sorry” thing. Annoying as it was, she couldn’t help but feel... _something_ every time she heard him say it. Something-- a _feeling_ that couldn’t really be described with any handful of words. 

A feeling that she smothered immediately.

The two continued in silence for a bit, Wander’s eyes periodically drifting between the new and interesting things that surrounded him. The cacti, the snakes, the glittering rocks...this planet was so beautiful. Then he looked to Sylvia.

With a bit of hesitation, he asked, “ma’am?” which prompted a “what” from the zbornak.

“Where are we goin’?”

“None of your business.” Sylvia responded. “And you can drop that ma’am stuff.”

Wander blinked. Was ma’am not the right way to address a woman? He thought he was getting the hang of this by now… “...uh,” he added, “sorry...sir…?”

And that made Sylvia stop in her tracks, her head snapping around to him. “Do I _look_ like a sir??”

“N-no!!! No, not at all!!” At this point Wander had his hands raised, rather meekly. “I-- I was just, if I don't-- if I can't call ya ma’am, and I can't call ya sir, wh- um, what...do I call you…?” Was there a gender-neutral honorific? Not one that Wander knew of.

The zbornak gave a breathy sigh before responding. “...If you _have_ to call me anything, call me Sylvia. Got it?” And after a few seconds of silence, added, “so what do I call _you_?”

“Tumbl--” Wander started, before stopping himself. “...Wander. Wander, I mean.”

“Wander? What kinda name is Wander?”

Wander blinked. That was the name she gave him. But he didn't say that. “It's my name.”

And that's all he left it at as the two continued forward. The sound of Sylvia’s bare feet thumping against the ground and the jingle-jangle of her uniform bells filled the silence between them. Wander still wondered where he was going. He still didn't ask.

Wander let himself zone out as they proceeded. He didn’t have much else to do, and was already accustomed to sitting still and being subservient. Even if it made him just the slightest bit...antsy.

He managed to fix his gaze onto a nearby tree, bushy and green and tall... _huh_ . He hadn’t seen a tree on this planet until now. _How would a tree survive here? The ground looks all rock. Wouldn’t the root system give out? And how w--_

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted as he felt every muscle in his body involuntarily convulse. As a matter of fact, Sylvia looked to be trembling as well. His gaze darted around, and he realized that the entire area seemed to be...rumbling?

“Miss Sylvia?” he asked. “Do ya feel that…?”

Sylvia went silent, her head perking up, as the tremors only grew more intense. After a few seconds of hesitation, she looked to Wander. Then she looked to the distant horizon.

Considerably far off was...something, lined with slick and shiny wings and legs, and a smooth, green body interlaced with purple and yellow-- seeming to be nearing in with every passing second. The ground only rocked more and more as it approached. Wander couldn’t help but stare in awe.

“Miss Sylvia, Miss Sylvia!!” Wander immediately exclaimed. “What is-- _who_ is that!? That thing is _real_ big!! Do ya see it?? Do ya see that big thing over there--”

“ _We gotta move_.” was all Sylvia responded with. Her voice was even lower than usual, and Wander took from her tone that this was serious.

Before he could even respond, Wander felt his entire body whip back as the world zipped by him and disappeared soon behind. Sylvia was running fast, _really_ fast, and whatever this thing was was nearing quicker and quicker by the minute. He didn’t comment on how tightly the zbornak had been clutching him.

“What’s goin’ on?? What’s happenin’??” Wander asked in a panicked tone. Sylvia’s bells jangled with each step she took. 

“Not now--” Sylvia returned, before her voice was cut off by the blaring rumble of a large, spider-like leg erupting from the ground. The leg rose from the rocks and soil like a tidal wave, and the zbornak didn’t even think to react before her feet skidded to a halt and zipped the other way. 

Within seconds, another leg collided with the ground before her, releasing clouds of dust and rocks into the air. Wander instinctively covered his face. 

...but couldn’t stop himself from taking a peek.

Before him was something big and mostrous, covered in insect legs, with a body that seemed to extend for miles. Wander’s eyes glittered as he gazed upon it, but his body was jerked away before he could even react.

“Not the time for staring, Wander!!” Sylvia exclaimed, moving almost like a blur. 

“Miss SYLVIA LOOK AT THAT THING!! LOOK AT THAT WORM MONSTER THING, AIN’T IT COOL!?” Wander was yelling now, unable to contain his excitement.

Sylvia ignored him and pressed forward.

Not before long, however, she felt something smack against her face. Something...slick and paper-y.

“I think that’s a Gargantuan Centipede!” Wander added, waving a bug magazine before the zbornak’s face. 

Wait. A magazine?

Sylvia skidded to a halt. “What-- where did you get that??”

The child looked to her, saying nothing, then looked to the book in his hands. Huh. Where did he get this? He ran his fingers along the page, then, with a moment of hesitation, brought his hand to his hat. With a blink, he responded, “...I think the hat gave it to me!”

“The--” Sylvia stared at him. “The hat _gave_ it to you??”

Wander didn’t really believe it either. He had completely forgotten the entire reason he had rescued the hat until now. Before he could respond, however, Sylvia darted off once again, and the centipede monster trailed not too far behind.

“No time for this right now!” Sylvia added. “Just-- can your hat get some kinda gun or somethin’??”

Wander’s shoulders stiffened at the mention of the word “gun.” And immediately, he responded, “No.”

Sylvia groaned in frustration. “Then what can it give me??”

“Well- I dunno!! This is the first time it’s done this!” Wander bit his lip. He definitely didn’t want to coax the hat into doing anything it didn’t want to do. “But do I have this!” 

Sylvia glanced back at him. In the nomad’s hand was a bottle of orbble juice.

“Oh-- oh, thank grop!” She felt her shoulders loosen as her eyes met with the bottle. “Use it! Use it and get us outta here!” 

Without hesitation, the child unscrewed the cap and whipped out the bubble wand, immediately enclosing the duo in a large bubble. And within seconds, Sylvia moved her feet along the bottom of the orbble and steered it into the air. “Haha! Yes! Take that ya flarpin--”

Her voice trailed as she noticed herself to be...lighter.

Almost as if a literal weight had been lifted from her back.

And looking back, she noticed that the nomad was sprawled across the ground below her, trembling and clutching his hat close. _Grop_.

_Well, whatever!_

_He was just bounty anyway! Leave him!_

Sylvia fixed her saddle, ready to take off.

_Right now, your only priority is numero uno!_

_You’re just gonna get killed if you go down there anyway! He’s not worth it!_

And readying her feet,

_Just get outta here! What are you waiting for?_

Sylvia took off.

-

“That was real nice of ya, Miss Sylvia.”

Wander’s high pitched voice rang through the zbornak’s ears. She said nothing.

“To come back for me, I mean.” The nomad clung to her, eyeing the stars around him through the glossy surface of the orbble. “For a second I thought you were gonna leave me there, haha…” ....Wander could definitely think of someone _else_ who would have. He had almost expected it to happen, but…

“Listen, kid.” Sylvia spoke, her voice low and quiet. “Don’t...don’t count on me to save your... _behind_ again.” She actually had a different word in mind, but held her tongue. “I’m not here to babysit, got it?”

Wander closed his eyes and rested his head on her neck. “Yes ma’am.”

“Wander.” snapped Sylvia. “What did I tell you about that?”

The nomad instinctively jerked upwards, stuttering and stammering in response. “Ah! I’m real sorry miss, I-I was tired, I didn’t mean to--”

“No, the-- no--” Sylvia responded, “the ma’am thing. Didn’t I tell ya to cut that out?”

Wander felt his shoulder’s loosen. Of course. Of course. “Sorry.” And, with a shaky breath, Wander hesitantly lied his head back onto her neck.

And Sylvia had to admit...it felt nice.

…

Three days had passed.

Sylvia still hadn’t taken Wander to the palace. They were _at the capital_ , and she still hadn’t taken him.

She knew that she had to. She knew that she needed the money, but…

Honestly, there was something about the little goofball that made it so hard for her to do that.

The way he’d excitedly point out every butterfly he saw, the way he’d awkwardly ramble about the butterflies he saw to the clerk every time they entered a store, the way he’d hold a trampled flower in the air so the butterflies could at least get what little nectar was left out of it…

It wasn’t just with butterflies. He was like this with everything. Aside from the weird helping fixation (which the zbornak had gotten used to at this point), things Sylvia held as commonplace seemed so new and interesting to Wander. Things like food courts and movie theaters and bicycles and television…

And she couldn’t help but wonder what kind of life he had before that denied him of these things.

Unfortunately, the kid was very _secretive_ about his past. Simple questions like “where are you from” and “what’s your family like” resulted in extremely nervous, jittery silence from the nomad-- and while she didn’t press for details, it only made the zbornak more curious. It didn’t help that he seemed to be barely a preteen, maybe eleven or twelve years old at the most. Despite Sylvia herself only being a few years older than that, it didn’t seem right that someone his age was so…

...clueless.

It kind of made her feel guilty for having to turn him in.

But she wasn’t going to do that right now. The two leaned against the counter of whatever cheap cafe Wander had dragged her into, a brown cowl thrown over her head, and sipped her jellyfish ice cream shake.

Wander seemed just the slightest bit uncomfortable with the situation, and whether it was between her shake and her cowl, (both of which she noticed the nomad had been nervously eyeing), it only took a tall glass of some fake vegetarian smoothie to calm him down. 

Wander happily downed the cold smoothie in his hands before holding the empty glass out to her. “I’m done.”

“Okay?” returned Sylvia. “What do you want me to do?”

“...Uhm…” Wander pulled the cup back, not sure how to respond to that. “Wel-- what do I do with it?”

Syvlia blinked her eyes. “You...leave it?”

“Why?”

“Because that’s-- I dunno! Why are you askin’ me?” Sylvia cocked a brow at him. “That’s just what you do.”

And Wander, very slowly, very hesitantly, brought his cup to the counter. “Are ya sure?”

“Yes!”

Needless to say, Wander had trouble adjusting with...every place they went to. Not only did his naivety render him a sore thumb in social situations, but his desire to help seeped into every decision he made. He held doors open-- he held so many doors open-- he walked elderly folk across the street, he did so many errands for so many people he didn’t even know…

Sylvia didn’t ask about it. She never did.

…

When night fell, Wander found himself on some grassy planet not too far from the capital. According to Sylvia, it was dangerous to sleep close to the palace, even though they had been running across the city all day. But Wander didn’t question her. She seemed to know more about...everything than he did.

He held his hat tightly on his head. 

He wasn’t allowed to wear it while they were out, and while he didn’t outwardly complain, without it he felt...empty. Of course, he never told this to Sylvia. She had enough on her plate, it seemed. She didn’t need Wander being a little brat either.

...He liked Sylvia.

He hoped he’d stay with her for at least a little bit longer.

Right now, he had curled himself up in the crook of her long neck. She had become a lot more comfortable with him doing this-- the whole “affection” thing. She didn’t seem all too familiar with it, honestly.

But that was okay. Wander wasn’t familiar with it, either.

His gaze drifted up to the stars. Glittering, sparkling, like rhinestones in a blanket of black. He could watch the stars for hours. His thoughts washed away as his eyes followed the comets and satellites above, and with the passing minutes, he felt his consciousness drift…

...before closing his eyes and falling asleep.

...Like a clap of thunder, Wander was jolted awake by something tapping his shoulder. Almost nudging him, in a way. And with dizzied focus, the child pulled away from Sylvia, rubbing his eyes.

As his vision slowly returned, his gaze met with a...familiar yellow alien.

And in that moment, Wander felt his heart _drop._

_Oh no._

Floating before him was none other than the same banana that had taken over every single aspect of his life, of his _freedom_ , staring down at the child through his plastic novelty glasses. 

Dr. Screwball Jones.

“Dr. J-- _Dr. Jones_ …!?” stammered Wander, the nomad immediately scrambling backwards with shaky limbs and a rapid heartbeat. “How did you-- wh--”

“Oh, spare me the spectacle, Tumbleweed.” Screwball returned, clasping his hands together in a matter of fact way. “Let me ask-- did you have fun on this little adventure of yours? Did ya get it all out of your system?”

Wander couldn’t even begin to think of the words he wanted. As he stared at his mentor, wide eyed, all he could think-- all he could _hope_ is that he was caught up in some sort of nightmare, and at any moment Sylvia would wake him up and--

“Oh! You even made yourself a little friend.” Screwball added, side eyeing Sylvia. “A zbornak. Huh. Never thought you’d go so...primitive. Aren’t I _stable_ enough for you?” The banana cackled at his own pun. “Get it? ‘Cause she’s a horse? Ah, the times you and I have together.”

“...Don’t you miss that, Tumbleweed?” Screwball added after a few seconds of silence. “I mean, it’s certainly better than what you got here.”

Before he even realized it, Screwball had begun to drag Wander by his wrist, and they were slowly nearing the oh-so-familiar novelty-studded ship hovering in the distance. “Running around the galaxy with this hoodlum like some kinda outlaw.” continued the banana. “Do you realize how high the bounty is for your head? At least when you come back with me, you won’t have to worry about--”

“ _No_!!!” Wander exclaimed, ripping away from Screwball’s grasp. “I’m-- I never wanna go back with you!! I’m never gonna-- ain’t ever--”

“Oh c’mon now Tumbleweed--” returned Screwball, before immediately being cut off by the nomad.

“It’s _Wander_.”

Screwball was taken aback for a moment, just a moment, his limbs going slack. “Oh.” He then crossed his arms, staring down the child once more. “ _Oh._ I see how it is... _Wander.”_ The banana suppressed a laugh as he spoke. “You really _have_ gotten comfortable with this uh...ego of yours, huh?”

Wander said nothing, and slowly took a step back.

Then Screwball inched forward. 

“Do you really, honestly, honest to _grop_ think that you’re gonna survive like this? Out here?”

Wander still said nothing. He took another step back.

And Screwball floated a few more inches forward

“I mean, lemme guess. That hat of yours. You thought you were _helping_ it, huh? And now...look where you are. You’re gonna get both you _and_ her killed.”

And Wander took another step back…

As Screwball came a few inches forward.

“Hate to break it to you, but your ‘helping’ isn’t working.” he continued. “All you’re doing is getting people hurt. You can’t help people without me. You just... _don’t_ know how.”

“I know a lot more about helpin’ people than you!” Wander yelled back, his breaths intensifying. 

“Is that right? You know more about helping people than me, alright. Well, if that’s how it is, I guess I’ll just leave you to it. Goodbye forever, Wander.”

The banana turned around and started towards his ship...before breaking into laughter and extending a mechanical hand from his hat, which immediately wrapped around Wander’s slender arm like a brace. “Just kidding!” exclaimed Screwball. “We do that kidding thing a lot, don’t we?” 

Before Wander could react, he was being ripped away from Sylvia’s side, from his new life, from his freedom, and before he knew it, he had been dragged back onto the same ship he had tried _so_ hard to escape from.

In the distance, he could see the zbornak slowly waking up. He could see her frantically eye the grass beside her, searching for the nomad, before her eyes met with his in a panicked look. 

And the last thing he said was “I love you” before the automatic door shut everything out.

-

The sleek metal bars of Wander’s cage were the only things separating him from Screwball, and if he weren’t so small, he could break through them.

They were so thin and frail. Like him.

The nomad leaned his back against the wall of his cage, tightly gripping his hat close to him. Nearby he could see Screwball typing something into his control panel, before moving his finger along the holographic map overhead, the banana’s attention fixed onto wherever he was going.

Wander couldn’t help himself from shooting his mentor a glare.

“I hope you know that I’m gonna fight you for the rest ‘a my life.” Wander spoke curtly. “Wherever you take me, whatever we do. Things will _never_ be how they were.”

“Oh, I’m so scared. Look at me. I’m trembling.” Screwball didn’t even bother looking up from the control panel as he said that. “Do you know what you are without me, buddy? You are _nothing_ . You’re _nobody_ . If you weren’t so useful and subservient as my helper, I wouldn’t have even come back for you. I mean, those antibiotics aren’t gonna replace _themselves_ with smile pills, yannow?”

Wander said nothing to that. He felt hot tears well up in his eyes, but immediately rubbed them away. 

“So that’s all you’ll really be to me, now. A little helper monkey.” Screwball shot him a twisted grin. “But hey! At least now your help will actually be useful!” He cackled to himself before continuing.

“...Yannow, things didn’t have to be this way. If you had just stayed with me, right now we’d be helping entire planets. I guess you had to be the hero, huh? The stupid, selfish, not-so-great-at his-job-hero.”

“Then I guess that makes you the villain.” was all Wander could respond with.

And as they continued in silence, Wander could feel the ship rumble beneath him. _Grop. He was gonna die here. He was gonna die not ever having helped anyone._

_He was gonna die because he was stupid and weak and useless._

_He was gonna die without ever seeing Sylvia again._

Realizing this, Wander brought his knees to his chest, and let the tears roll down his face. He was shaking now, but that wasn’t new. He had always been a crybaby.

He had always been stupid and weak and useless.

...Suddenly, _something_ interrupted his thoughts. Something...weighing on his head. Scrambling his hands to his hat, he felt something sleek and smooth sitting beneath it. The nomad wrapped his fingers around the mystery object before slipping it out from the hat, and looking at it through blurry tears, it looked like…

...a banjo. 

A banjo?

Wander looked to the bars before him, then to the banjo. If the hat had given it to him...it must be important.

And with a moment of hesitation, he slammed the instrument against the cage,

and the bars snapped in half,

and then he was off.

…

Now Wander was running.

What was new?

He was running, and could hear Screwball calling from behind, and the banjo was still in his hands, and now he was running faster, _and he couldn’t think or breathe--_

_and these corridors were so long_

_and he knew them so well_

_and now he was running even faster,_

and he kept running, kept speeding, hoping, praying Screwball wouldn’t catch up to him.

But he did.

He always did.

The nomad felt himself being jerked back by his scruff, and just above him was the oh so familiar banana, his stupid novelty glasses taunting Wander.

“Ah, you were so close, Tumbleweed. It’s _funny_ how close you were, actually.” Screwball started back down the corridor, Wander still in his grip. “Yannow, for someone who ran away to be the hero, you’re not really good at this whole ‘hero’ thing.”

Wander was holding his banjo so tightly, his knuckles were turning white.

And in an instant. he felt something else on his head. Screwball was still talking, but the nomad wasn’t listening. Slipping his free hand beneath his hat, Wander felt something…sleek, and...

heavy.

Really heavy.

So heavy that the nomad slipped from the Screwball’s grasp and collided with the floor below, and a single cannonball rolled out of his hat, which had fluttered off of him. Wander held his head, dizzy and disoriented, and through obscured vision, he could see his hat launching a multitude of things at the banana across from him. Bricks, hammers, more canonballs...

Wait.

“Stop it! Stop!” pleaded Wander, grabbing ahold of the hat as more heavy and hard objects shot out from its brim. He had managed to pin it down for a few seconds as it struggled and scuffled against his arms. How could a literal hat be so hard to control?

Looking across, he could see that Screwball had backed into a corner, momentarily dazed, but not hurt. The objects in question lied on the floor around him.

A long pause lingered between the two.

Then, Wander, grabbing his banjo, 

slowly approached Dr. Jones.

Screwball flinched as he noticed the nomad raise the instrument in the air, and Wander could tell by his expression that he was expecting some kind of impact.

And, his hands trembling, Wander almost considered it.

...But he didn't.

He couldn't.

After everything he had gone through, after everything he had been put through, Wander could not bring himself to hurt another person. Not again.

And, with the base of the banjo pointed directly at the banana, Wander spoke.

“You...are a real messed up guy. …’N a villain. ‘N a menace.”

Wander swallowed thickly before continuing. “...But that doesn’t mean I hafta stoop to your level. I’m happy now. I’m happy with my life, as Wander.”

“And that life don’t include you.”

The nomad took a deep breath. “So I’m gonna go live that life.”

“And if I ever hafta see you again, so be it.”

“But know that I will do _everything_ in my power to stop you. Not as Tumbleweed. But as _Wander_.”

The banana said nothing, and Wander didn’t know what to take from his stunned silence. He closed his eyes before he continued speaking. “...And if you _ever_ try to take this life away from me, I will stop you.”

“...But the next time we meet, if ever, I want you to know that I will be the hero. And you will be the villain. ‘N if you want things to be different, we will never meet again.”

Wander lowered his banjo before leaving off with one final note.

“Goodbye, Dr. Jones.”

-

Everything happened so fast.

Wander vividly remembered jumping out of Dr. Screwball’s ship, fumbling with the bottle in his hands in a desperate attempt to get an orbble around him.

And when it didn’t work, he kept falling.

The stars around him only zipped by, faster and faster, as he plummeted closer to the grassy planet below.

And in that moment, Wander was fine. He was okay if these moments were going to be his last. He had felt...fulfilled. And even falling to his death wouldn’t take that away from him.

Luckily for him, however, these moments were not his last.

Because the next thing he remembered was landing in an orbble below and feeling the soft, warm body of a zbornak, wrapping her strong arms around him so tightly that the air was practically squeezed out of his lungs.

She was crying, and shaking, and begging and pleading and asking him if he was okay, checking him for injuries, but never asking what had happened on the ship.

He was kind of glad that she didn’t.

And clinging to Sylvia’s body, he let the tears stream down his face, dripping onto her and staining her coarse uniform.

And together, the two slowly floated downwards.

And at this point, Wander knew that things were going to get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay NOW its the end, for real. thank you so much for reading this! honestly things could have moved a bit slower but now its done and its out there so theres so going back fkckc  
> anyway, thank you again for reading this story! i actually got to wrap up everything i wanted this time haha


End file.
